Flashpoint: The Return of Dr Fate
by Syl
Summary: After his parents' death at the hands of the Amazons, Dick meets up with the Resistance and makes a Fateful decision.


Summary: After his parents' death at the hands of the Amazons, Dick meets up with the Resistance and makes a Fateful decision.

Note: Based on _Flashpoint: Deadman and the Flying Graysons_. Some dialogue borrowed from F:DatFG, part 3.

Disclaimer: All the characters are owned by DC Comics and Time/Warner; this is

an original story that does not intend to infringe on their copyright.

Feedback is welcome!

Copyright: March 2012

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Flashpoint: The Return of Dr. Fate (or Whatever Happened to the Flying Graysons?)

By Syl Francis

The war between Themyscira and Atlantis had laid much of the surface world to waste, destroying lives and wiping out entire families. The ruins of what was left of Europe lay strewn as far as the eye could see. The ravages visited upon the continent had been so complete that it was nearly impossible to discern what had once been homes, schools, and businesses. A large percentage still lay smoldering several days—even weeks—after the initial attacks.

Even the countryside had not been spared, as witnessed by the swaths of felled trees and polluted streams and rivers that dotted the rural areas.

Arriving at the French coastline after several days of running and hiding, Dick Grayson barely took the time to catch his breath and study the surrounding area. He was stunned by the sheer magnitude of the destruction. Everything from where he stood in the outskirts of Paris to the Normandy coast was gone, submerged under the cold waters of the Atlantic. He looked down the newly formed cliffs of the Atlantic wall. The weapons used by Atlanteans had been so powerful, they'd turned the cliff face to glass.

Movement overhead caught his eye, and he quickly looked up. His back stiffened suddenly in challenge at the approach of an Amazonian-like woman and her companions.

"You won't get this helmet, Amazon!" Dick cried out defiantly. Too many people—his parents and most of their circus troupe included—had already died in its defense. There was no way he'd allow those witches to lay their hands on Helm of Nabu.

Unknown to Dick, a fellow performer who had died, Boston Brand, stood next to him in spirit form—serving as a sarcastic guardian angel. "Hey, kid…don't do nuthin' rash, now," Brand pleaded. "I promised your ol' man I'd watch over you, but you gotta meet me half way and stop puttin' your sorry self in harm's way."

Like no more jumping from exploding trains barely in the nick of time, he added silently. "Not that you can hear me, anyway."

The beautiful woman smiled suddenly. "Strong words, youngling. But I am no Amazon. My name is Brittania…and we are part of the Resistance!" She indicated her companions. "We fight for freedom and justice! Will you join us?"

Dick smiled and hefted the golden Helm of Nabu to place it on his head.

Startled, Brand cried out, "Stop!" He reached for the Helm, but his hands went right through it. He was a spirit, a recent casualty of the war, and thus had no physical form. "No, Dick! Don't!" Brand understood almost nothing about the power of the helmet, but he did know that its previous owner Kent Nelson had been left terribly weakened after each successive use.

Unaware of Brand's panicky pleas, Dick continued without interruption. "You may call me…Dr. Fate!" A split second before Dick finished donning the helmet, Brand dove into the boy's body.

"Oh, what the hell…in for a penny, in for a pound. Que sera, sera—and all that jazz. Free will is overrated, I guess…" These were his last conscious thoughts.

A blinding flash of light accompanied Dick's actions. Instantly, the teen's physical form was enveloped by the sorcerer Nabu's mystical powers, and he (they?) was transformed into Dr. Fate. Along with the golden Helm, he was now endowed with the Cloak of Destiny and the Amulet of Anubis.

"_The timeline and all that is has been altered by one who sought to change his destiny_," Dr. Fate intoned. "_His folly has wrought chaos upon the multiverse. As a result, billions have died who should not have, and others, whose destiny was to die, live still_." As Dr. Fate spoke, he rose in the air, arms outstretched to either side. His cape billowed in the sudden breeze that had sprung up. "_Fate will __**intervene**__!_"

The blue and gold figure raised his arms above his head in a dramatic manner, all the while uttering an incantation whose words were lost in the rising winds.

Unknown to the members of the resistance who watched Dr. Fate in awestruck silence, at that very moment across the English Channel in New Themyscira, a scarlet speedster had begun the race of a lifetime—a race to catch himself.

Dr. Fate brought his hands together in an earsplitting thunderclap, and a golden ankh appeared before him, growing in size until it encompassed all reality. Simultaneously, the Cloak of Destiny formed a shield around Fate, protecting him from the very forces he had unleashed.

The mystic ankh shot through the time stream, and as it did, the mountains and landmasses of Western Europe, which had been felled by war and now lay sunken beneath the sea, rose once more. Entire cities that had lain, decimated in smoking ruin, glittered like new again.

As time moved in reverse, faster than a mortal eye could follow or comprehend, those who had died before their time lived yet again. Those who should have died were suddenly faced with their true destiny.

All the while Nabu watched, a disinterested observer, removed from the petty emotions of mere mortals. It had been a long time since he had inhabited a body in as peak a physical condition, as the one that had been owned by Richard Grayson but was now in service to him.

Kent Nelson, Richard Grayson's predecessor, had been knowledgeable of archeology and the arcane arts, but he had been prone to bouts of depression. As a result of his vulnerable emotional state and a physical vessel that was too weak to withstand the supernatural forces at work, Nelson had eventually been burned out from continuous use of the Helm. Still, Nelson had served Nabu well, but now he had a new host—one who was younger and in much better physical and emotional health.

Also, Grayson had a freshness about him, a positive aura that would not accept defeat even in the face of tragedy. These traits were coupled with an ability to look forward and face new challenges with confidence. Nabu could feel Grayson's inquisitiveness and optimism coming through his control. However, there was also a slight twinge of sadness that hung around the outer edges of the boy's consciousness, a direct result of his recent personal losses.

Nevertheless, the Helm had chosen well. Nabu would train his new host in the arcane arts, and if Grayson proved an apt student and played the hand Fate had dealt him well, their symbiotic relationship would be of mutual benefit to them both.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Brand shouted, not caring if he insulted Fate. "No, no, no…no siree, you don't!"

If it were possible for Dr. Fate to be taken by surprise, then perhaps, he experienced what one might call an _infinitesimal _moment of shock.

"_Who __**dares**__ interfere with Fate_?"

"_**I**_ dare, Bucket Head!" Brand shouted angrily from inside Dick's head—and boy was that hard to explain, he added to himself. The next moment it seemed as if Brand's eyes had opened into an empty, black void. "Whoa…where the heck am I?"

"_Not 'where_,'" Fate's sartorial voice intoned, "_but rather 'when.' We are outside of the time stream, while it self-corrects._"

"How long-?" Brand began.

"_A mere moment…an eternity…what difference does it make? It is all the same with time_."

"Vague, much?" Brand muttered. "Look…about the kid. You can't keep him. I promised his dad I'd watch out for him, and besides…he's just a kid! He's got his own life to live—girls to meet, keg parties to get drunk at, and quadruple somersaults to perform. I don't know if you know it or not, but Dick's probably the most talented aerialist of his generation—heck of any generation. Okay…maybe not as good as me, but the kid's got a real gift. You can't take that from him."

"_Richard Grayson chose his Fate when he donned the Helm of Nabu. He did it of his own free will—"_

"Yeah, yeah…toss me another line," Brand interrupted. "You know he had no choice. If he hadn't done so, then the whole world—hell, according to you, the whole multiverse (whatever that is)—would have been destroyed." Brand paused, wondering if was getting through to Nabu. "Look the kid's a real hero for what he did, for being willing to sacrifice himself for others. Don't turn his sacrifice into a punishment."

The universe winked out…

When awareness came back, Brand was again surrounded by a dark void. "Don't you have a happy place?" he demanded, annoyed. "Where are we?" A curious fluttering sound from above alerted him moments before a black mass of leathery wings suddenly swooped down and flew off en masse. Ducking, he cried out, startled.

"Whoa! What the-? Bats? Seriously? You dropped me off in some frigging bat-infested cave? Could you _**be**_ any creepier?" So says the dead guy, he added to himself. Looking down at himself, he realized that he was no longer occupying Dick/Fate's body. "Great…now what do I do?"

Brand closed his eyes and concentrated on Dick, attempting to visualize the boy's location. A moment later, he heard him. Or rather, he heard Dr. Fate. Taking flight in the direction of Fate's voice, he soon saw a light ahead and followed it.

"Dr. Fate?" Batman spoke hesitantly. "Why are you here? Does it have anything to do with what the Flash talked to me about earlier?" He still held a note in his hand that Barry Allen had delivered—a note from his father across a distant universe.

"_Bruce Wayne, Fate dealt you a hand that many would view as a hard burden to bear. Yet, you have played it well. While it may seem at times that you are destined to live a life of darkness and loneliness, the truth is that your quest for justice has served as a beacon of hope to the many whose lives you have touched on your journey_."

"I don't understand," Bruce admitted.

"_Fate decreed that two people die so that their son would become a force for justice. When Fate was interfered with, not only did the son die, but the world collapsed into chaos. However, Fate intervened when another boy whose parents died took the hand Fate dealt him and saved the multiverse; however, because one's destiny is what one makes it, you and he were always meant to meet and serve as a light to each other's darkness_."

"Dick…? This is about Dick, isn't it? Where is he? Is he all right?"

"_Bruce Wayne, you were destined to raise Richard Grayson as your son, recruit him into your quest for justice, and inspire him to reach even greater heights. His ultimate Destiny still awaits him...and even I cannot see what that future holds._"

"Okay…Dr. Fate, my patience has reached its limits. What are you _**not**_ telling me about my son?" Batman spoke angrily, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

"The gold-plated bucket head is trying to tell you that he's hijacked your son, and he ain't givin' him back to you!" Brand shouted. "Is that clear enough?" Of course, to Brand's utter frustration, Batman didn't hear him.

"You sonovab-!" Batman yelled in sudden understanding. "That's my son under the helmet, isn't it? You took my son!" Batman instantly readied a batarang and was about to throw it, when Dr. Fate calmly reached up and removed the Helm. A bright light enveloped him and disappeared in less than a heartbeat.

Dick now stood before Bruce, wearing ordinary jeans and a torn and bloodied t-shirt. His usual neatly combed hair was unkempt and matted down. His bare arms and face showed signs of old lacerations and not-yet healed wounds. It was obvious to Bruce that wherever he'd been, the younger man had been put through the wringer.

A strange, gold light shone from Dick's eyes for a moment, slowly dimmed, and died out. Dick's eyes returned to their own dark blue color, though they seemed somewhat unfocussed. He blinked a couple times in a vain effort to clear his vision and brought his hand up to his forehead. Feeling disoriented, he swayed momentarily and groaned. He hoped that he wasn't going to be sick.

"What happened? Where am I?" Dick looked around the bat-cave, his eyes reflecting his confusion. Finally, he focused on Batman, who was standing an arm's length from him. "Bruce? What am I doing here?"

Batman removed his cowl, transforming himself into Bruce Wayne. He reached out to his son and placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. "What do you remember, Dick?"

Dick shook his head, but immediately stopped. His stomach warned him against attempting such a foolish move again. He hoped—no _**he prayed**_—that he wasn't going to be sick.

"I went to bed—that's all I know." He allowed Bruce to lead him to one of the chairs in the control room. "How'd I get here? And…" He looked at his torn clothes and old wounds. "What happened to me? Was I in a fight? Why can't I remember?" He finally noticed the golden Helm of Fate that he was holding onto. "And how'd I get my hands on _**this**_ thing?"

"I'm not sure, son," Bruce admitted quietly. "But that's not what's important." He gave Dick a half-smile, his eyes openly showing his affection. He gently, but firmly took the Helm from Dick and set it aside. "What is important is that you're here now."

From the shadows, Brand watched the father/son moment and smiled. "John, Mary…I think your boy—No, _**our**_ boy—is in good hands."

The End


End file.
